


April Fools

by Seldarius



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 14:21:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16620668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seldarius/pseuds/Seldarius
Summary: When Phryne decides to play a cruel trick on Jack, she doesn't count on the consequences...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> On special request I'm copying over my old fics from fanfiction. This one was originally posted on May 9, 2014 and May 10, 2014.

Inspector Robinson's feet walked down the familiar garden path on their own accord. He was tired from the long day, but his heart was excitedly fluttering in his chest. While Jack truthfully couldn't wait to get inside, he strode towards the door at a steady pace; a careful habit of many years as an police officer, good at hiding his emotions. His knock was also the same as always, polite but firm. He waited. Nobody answered. 

The Inspector was starting to wonder if he had made a mistake in coming. But he was expected to call on Miss Fisher after a finished case, it had become their little ritual. They would drink whisky by the fire, or martini on the love seat or port on the window sill. And always would they talk about their latest case, share the last bits of information and their floating thoughts and then close the chapter on it forever. Phryne called it “indulging” while Jack simply said “dropping by”, even though he indulged in it more than he would ever care to admit. Miss Fisher had stopped inviting him at some point and maybe it had been forward of him to still show up at her doorstep. But then Miss Fisher wasn't known for holding back with her opinion and she had never complained. 

Now however, Jack Robinson waited on her front porch in vain, the cool autumn wind playing in his coat. There was light in several windows, yet the door stayed stubbornly shut. The Inspector considered turning to leave, but finally he lifted his knuckles and knocked again, calling himself a fool for the thought that he might not be welcome tonight. 

There were some steps behind the door and then eventually Mr. Butler pulled it open. He seemed somewhat flustered and Jack grinned to himself. 

“I am terribly sorry for letting you wait, Inspector,” the servant said, a little louder than was strictly necessary. Jack Robinson's brief spell of relaxation evaporated. Whatever was going on? 

“Is it a bad time?” he asked politely, but the butler just shook his head, showing him in. 

“No, Sir. I just happened to be in the middle of washing the dishes. May I take your coat?” 

Hesitantly Jack stepped into the house, the familiar smell of Phryne's perfume greeting him. But there was something else mixed in with it tonight. He didn't have to be a detective to spot the bunch of roses sitting on the currently unoccupied dining table. It was quite obvious in it's size and glowing shade of red, illuminated by flickering candlelight. So, it was probably not the best of times. 

He turned to inform Mr. Butler that he was going to leave, unwilling to disturb Phryne in her date, or face the man that would end up in her bedroom tonight. But the servant had disappeared. By now Jack really wished he hadn't come. Grabbing his coat and just pulling the door shut behind himself, however, appeared like a rather rude option, after he had demanded entry. 

Resisting the urge to shove his fists down his pockets, the Inspector wandered towards the parlour, where he heard Miss Fisher laughing. Phryne was draped with glowing cheeks on the love seat, a tumbler of scotch in her hand. Beside her, too close for comfort – at least Jack's - sat a dark haired man with similarly dark eyes, incredibly handsome and currently completely enthralled in whatever anecdote Miss Fisher had shared. When the Inspector stepped into the room, feeling lost and trying to battle down the suffocating feeling in his chest, she looked up with sparkling eyes. 

“Jack! I was hoping you'd come. I would like to introduce you to a good friend, Sir Martin Webster. Martin, Inspector Jack Robinson.”

The Inspector forced himself to smile and accept the man's hand with a friendly greeting. He failed to spot any shortcomings in the handshake. 

“Whisky, Jack?” Miss Fisher asked, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the Inspector's back and got to her feet. 

“Thank you,” he nodded, without tearing his eyes from his rival for Phryne's heart. Suddenly everything fell into place. The ever psychic Mr. Butler missing a knock at the door was just too much of a strain on the Inspector's willing suspension of disbelief. The servant hadn't wanted to let him in. For very good reasons it seemed. Webster on the other hand appeared not to feel threatened by him in the slightest. He was still holding the policeman's gaze with a friendly smile. 

“Do sit down, you are looking untidy,” Phryne teased, shoving a tumbler into his hand before slipping back beside Martin. Jack couldn't help but think that she had moved a little closer to her 'good friend'. Nevertheless, he obediently tried to get comfortable in one of her armchairs. 

“So, Phryne tells me you are with the police force?” Martin asked, leaning back and sipping his whisky. He looked right at home. 

“That is correct. In fact, we have wrapped up a case together just today,” Jack stated, taking a sip from his own tumbler. The amber liquid burned a hot trail down his throat and made him feel a little better. He would finish his glass, get through some polite small talk and then leave as soon as it was decent to do so.

“How exiting,” Webster exclaimed, possibly a little bit over the top and looked at Phryne. “What happened?” 

“A woman poisoned her husband. It was rather hard to prove,” the Inspector stated, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at Webster's enthusiasm. “Miss Fisher finally found that she had grown the monkshood in her sister's garden.” 

Jack felt nauseous at the look of admiration that brushed over Phryne at this explanation. There was something like a soft blush spreading over her features that, if at all possible, enhanced her beauty.  
He gulped. 

“You should mention though, Jack, that you saved me from her sister's kitchen knife,” Miss Fisher pointed out smugly. “She didn't like me sneaking through her garden and she obviously hadn't been very fond of her brother-in-law either.” 

“That might have been not an issue if you hadn't decided to disappear and chase after the suspect on your own, Miss Fisher,” Jack quipped with a sarcastic smile. 

“It is not my fault that you drive like a milkman, Jack.” 

“There appears to be something called speed limits in this country, Miss Fisher.” 

“Oh, don't be such a goody-two-shoes, it doesn't suit you,” she pouted. 

“I apologise if my insistence to obey the law I am serving, offends your sense of adventure.” 

Martin Webster cleared his throat, bringing both of them back to the here and now. Jack had trouble battling down his annoyance with the man, he had briefly started to enjoy himself. Phryne tore her glittering eyes from Jack and leaned back in the love seat, where the other man's arm had mysteriously appeared to be draped along the cushion, hinting a hug. 

“I am sorry, Martin, this must be a terrible bore for you,” she smiled. Jack's jaw set, all humorous bickering disappearing from his mind. 

“Not at all. It is very interesting in fact.” 

Sir Webster measured Jack with a faint smile, questions written over his face. “How often do you get a chance to listen to two real detectives discussing their cases after all?” 

“How often, indeed?” Jack said, draining his tumbler, before rising to his feet. “But I had better get going home, tomorrow there is plenty of paperwork waiting for me.” 

Maybe he had imagined the shadow of disappointment in Phryne's eyes. She got to her feet to show him out. To the surprise of both, Martin Webster also rose. 

“I fear, it is time for me to retire as well.” 

Now, Miss Fisher looked stunned. She relaxed when he gave her a charming smile.

“Thank you for the lovely evening, Phryne. I do hope it will be repeated soon.” 

“I am looking forward to it.” 

She had some resemblance to a cat presented with a bowl of cream, when Webster pulled the back of her hand to his lips. Jack opened his mouth to say something, but nothing would come to him. 

“Goodnight, Miss Fisher,” he finally uttered stiffly. 

“Goodnight, Jack,” she smiled. 

“Goodnight, Inspector Robinson. I am honoured to have finally made your acquaintance.” 

The Inspector murmured something under his breath. At this stage, he just wanted to get out of her house. Maybe punch something or drink himself into oblivion. He fished his coat and hat from the wardrobe, unable to tear himself away from the picture of Phryne whispering something to Martin. Her friend laughed a throaty, deep laugh and Jack slipped out, before he could succumb to the urge to strangle him right in Miss Fisher's hall. Once he had left her garden behind, he stopped, dragging some calming breaths into his lungs. His shaking finger's found a crumpled pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket. That would do, until something better crossed his path. The flame flashed briefly into the darkness. 

“Also a sinner?” he heard a voice behind himself. Sir Martin Webster stepped beside him, lighting a gasper for himself. Jack nodded grimly. Why did the man have to be so infuriatingly nice? 

“Afraid so,” he mumbled, meaning a whole lot more than the cigarette held between his trembling fingers. Martin smiled into the darkness, dragging smoke into his lungs. 

“She's quite a woman, isn't she?” 

“That she is,” Jack said, realising that he wasn't even trying to be a good conversation partner, but couldn't help but continue: “Which is, why you find me somewhat surprised about your sudden departure.” 

If Martin Webster was insulted, he didn't show it. In fact, he laughed. 

“It is generally not considered decent for a gentleman to be in a ladies house late at night, Inspector.” 

“I don't believe, Miss Fisher is a great friend of this rule,” Jack quipped, rubbing out his half smoked cigarette on the cobbles. Again Sir Webster's throaty laugh sounded through the night. Jack shoved his fists into his pockets, trying to hold on to sanity. He needed to get away and fast, before he did something he would regret in the morning. 

“That is probably true, Inspector. But you see, I have no intention of the kind with Miss Fisher. My goals are lying somewhere else entirely.” 

The Inspector stared at the man, who was about half a head taller than himself and was smiling enigmatically into the night. He absolutely could not be implying what Jack thought he was. The policeman gulped. 

“And I assume, Miss Fisher knows about those 'goals'?” 

Webster took his last draw before dropping the cigarette stub on the floor and stepping onto it. Jack flinched. 

“I believe she would have a fair idea.” 

The Inspector nodded, gritting his teeth together so hard that he imagined, he could hear them grind.  
“Well, it's all settled then,” he managed. “Goodnight, Mr. Webster.” 

With that he turned, stalking into the darkness, without looking back. The other man watched him go, then shook his head, mumbling something to himself and walked off in the other direction. 

X 

Miss Williams jumped almost of her chair, when she heard the belting. Miss Fisher smiled at her, rising from her place at the table to open the kitchen door. The man standing in front of her looked as confused as he looked cold and stepped into the house without invitation. 

“Tell me, Phryne, when exactly have I been knighted?” Martin quipped. Miss Fisher slipped back onto her chair. 

“It was just a tiny little lie,” she shrugged. “I couldn't exactly tell him what you do for a living.” 

“Would you like some cocoa, Sir?” interrupted Mr. Butler from the stove. 

“Thank you, it is rather cold outside,” the man said, shedding his coat. 

“Well, you didn't have to leave,” Miss Fisher pointed out. “What were you doing out there?” 

“I was having another word with the Inspector,” Martin prompted, telling her the details of his conversation with Jack. The detective's eyes had clouded over with worry when he had finished, but she didn't say a word. Her friend scrutinised her for a while in silence, then he cleared his throat. 

“Are you in love with him?” 

Dot burst into a hysterical coughing fit, when the cocoa went down the wrong throat. Phryne tried herself on a strained smile, setting down her cup. 

“Whatever makes you say that?”

“Don't play games with me, Phryne. You said you wanted to pull a prank on a good friend, convincing him that you are getting married. There was no talk of a jealous lover!”

“We are friends! Close friends,” Miss Fisher insisted. 

Martin raised his eyebrows, while a cup of cocoa was set down in front of him. 

“You and I, Phryne, are 'close friends'. Jack Robinson is obviously smitten with you. I suspected, he might show you a little too much attention for your comfort, that's why I went ahead with this little charade. But your face tells me a very different story.” 

Miss Fisher had the decency to look embarrassed, but stirred in her cup in silence. 

“The Inspector is more inclined to show not quite enough attention, I fear,” Mr. Butler's voice said. “If you care for my honest opinion, Sir,” he added, for good measure. 

Martin looked up at the older man who already donned his dressing gown, then back at his friend. 

“Phryne?” Webster asked warningly. She shrugged, trying a small, embarrassed smile. Her voice sounded tiny, when she spoke again. 

“I might have hoped that I could provoke some sort of reaction...” she trailed off, looking miserable.  
'  
“Jesus, Phryne. That man is on his way home right now, probably to drink himself into a coma!” 

The anger in Martin's voice evaporated, when he realised that the most strong-willed and decidedly happy of his friends currently looked like she was going to burst into tears. Dot stretched out her hand, pressing her Mistress' fingers, a gesture that was answered with a faint smile. 

“He will come around,” Dot reassured herself as much as everybody else in the room. 

“The Inspector is very fond of you, Miss,” Mr. Butler added, briefly laying a hand on his Mistress' shoulder. Phryne couldn't help but feel that her servants were comforting her. Jack would get over it, wouldn't he? He did have a sense of humour. But the trick had gone horribly wrong and in all truth, it wasn't remotely funny to start with. She discovered the sudden urge to run after the Inspector and explain herself, but encountered a spell of cowardice. Murderers didn't scare her, but an angry and hurt Jack was too much to handle for Phryne Fisher. 

A chair screeched over the wooden floor. 

“I had better get going home. I fear, I got confession tomorrow morning and will now probably spend the morning on my knees, whispering Ave Marias,” Martin stated with a lopsided grin. While he was joking – he wasn't even Catholic - Phryne realised that he was angry with her, too. In defiance, she lifted her head and finished her cocoa. But she couldn't help the tears pricking at the back of her eyes. 

X

Inspector Robinson sat on his sofa, filling a glass to the rim with amber liquid. His shoes were lying under the table, his jacket and coat thrown somewhere over the back of a chair. That was of course not where they belonged, but right now, Jack couldn't have cared any less, if he'd tried. The whisky burned his insides, when he poured it down his throat. He was rather hoping that it would leave only ashes behind, nothing to feel with, just charred flesh. A part of him pointed out that he was being melodramatic. That even if Miss Fisher should decide to marry Sir Webster, unlikely as it was, it wouldn't be the end of the world. Jack wasn't convinced. 

His fingers still trembling, he poured himself another one. Phryne wouldn't get married! She wasn't the marrying type! Then again, he had never seen her this cosy and familiar with any of her flings before and she was too smart a woman to not understand the implications. How could he have missed this happening? Granted, he wasn't at her house every day, but he'd thought that he would notice all the same, if Miss Fisher would fall in love. Just two days ago...

Jack's heart did a painful lurch. He lifted his tumbler to his lips, hoping to numb his suffocating emotions. The more he thought about it, the less it made sense. He just couldn't seem to wrap his head around, why she hadn't asked him to not drop by tonight. Her date with Webster obviously hadn't come about all of the sudden. And neither had the Inspector's visit been a surprise. Jack felt his limbs slowly grow heavy, but his head was spinning. This left only the conclusion, that she had wanted him to witness those scenes. To what purpose? To drive the point home? Torture him? Or was she hoping he would stop her? Fight it? Defeat his rival? 

Jack drained his whisky, as his eyes fell on something hanging innocently on the wall. He shook his head, slamming down his glass. The bottle was disappointingly empty and he briefly wondered if he had another one hidden somewhere, while another part of him considered something. 

But it couldn't be. That... it was too much! Jack rubbed his palms over his tired face, realising that there was anger bubbling in his stomach, where there had only been pain before. Then he got to his feet, ignoring the shakiness in his steps, caused by too much alcohol and way too much adrenaline circulating in his blood, and picked up the phone. 

“Evening, Foster. Inspector Robinson speaking. I need an address... Yes, now.” 

X

Martin Webster hadn't lied. He was feeling bad about the whole encounter. He had expected to play a supporting role in a prank that Phryne had wanted to play on a good friend. Announcing the upcoming wedding of the untameable Miss Fisher had been supposed to be the grand finale, before they would declare the whole thing an April's fool joke and Jack Robinson would laugh along with them. So much for the theory. 

In practice, Martin had quickly realised that something else was going on. Something nobody had told him about. The suspicion had grown in him, that Phryne hadn't been honest, that she wanted Inspector Robinson to believe this charade for very different reasons. He himself had admittedly gotten a hold of the wrong end of the stick and when the Inspector had chosen to leave the stage early, Martin's own pride as an actor mixed with his wish to protect Phryne, had brought on his decision to drive the point home, despite it all. He had finished his act, not in the way he had planned and definitely not with the result he had been aiming for. The other man stalking off, looking like his whole body was in pain, had definitely not been Martin's goal in the whole drama. He was quite certain, it hadn't been Phryne's either. But she would have a hard time mending this one. 

Frustrated, Mr. Webster threw his socks onto a chair and grabbed his pajama pants. The knock at the door was faint, but hard to ignore. Clara was out, a late night at the theater. Martin sighed, buttoning up his pajamas and slipping into his dressing gown. It was hardly a good time for company. But it was probably just old Mrs. Errand from downstairs, needing something or other, while mostly seeking someone to talk to. When he pulled the door open, he froze in surprise. Inspector Robinson smiled thinly at him, hardly concealing the rage boiling underneath the surface. 

“I believe, Mr. Webster, you and I should have a talk.”


	2. Chapter 2

Miss Fisher sat in her bed, propped up against a pillow, chewing on a piece of toast, deeply in thought. She hadn't heard from Jack at all since last night. Of course, there wasn't any good reason why she should have. He generally didn't tend to call in the early hours of the morning, mostly because he was working. But she couldn't help the knot in her stomach, telling her that this time, she had. 

Phryne had to admit to herself, that she had started to provoke him with her show of affection for other men a long time ago. At the beginning it had been a statement, telling him clearly, that despite their flirtations and their friendship, he didn't have any ownership over her. But a deeper, darker part of her had revelled in hearing his green eyed monster roar. His brief losses of temper were reassuring that she wasn't the only one with her heart on the table. Drawing emotion from the guarded Jack was like squeezing blood from a stone sometimes. In fact, he was so bad at losing his head, it was infuriating. 

Over the past months she had grown increasingly frustrated with the Inspector's cowardice to follow through on what he obviously felt. He flirted with her, he sought her company, he was jealous at any man that crossed her path and yet, he wouldn't dare kissing her. It was ridiculous. 

Two days ago, he had done it again. She had been so close, she had been able to smell the scent of his skin, had swam in his dark eyes, her heart beating in her throat. And then he had taken a step backwards, broken the spell and fled the scene. In that moment something inside of her had snapped like a rubber band.

That same evening she had bumped into her old friend Martin Webster in a club they both frequented. He was notorious for his April fool's joke amongst their friends and after three martinis at the bar he had asked her if she felt like joining in to prank Clara this year. But Phryne had suddenly had a better idea – or at least so it seemed after several more drinks. And so the plan had ripened to push Jack over the edge, give him no way out but to confront her and his feelings-  
“Did you need anything else, Miss?” Mr. Butler asked. Phryne started. 

“Would you please come in and close the door behind you?” she asked after a beat. 

Mr. B chose to not point out that they were alone in the house and so little need for this exercise. Instead he did what had been asked of him. His Mistress looked up, appearing overtired and upset. 

“Mr. Butler... You also think that I have been cruel to Jack, don't you?” 

The servant cleared his throat. 

“I believe your prank to have been somewhat misguided,” he stated carefully. There was silence, while they both thought about the possible consequences. “It might be wise to explain the situation to the Inspector, Miss.” 

Phryne nodded, staring straight ahead. She had the terrible feeling, that Jack wouldn't respond positively to her confession of having deliberately played with his emotions. But what was the alternative? Leave him in the belief that she was considering to marry Martin? She groaned. How had she come up with this nonsense? She wondered briefly, if the Inspector would give her the benefit of temporary insanity. Then, in sudden resolve she looked up and swung her legs out of bed. 

“What time is it, Mr. Butler?” 

“Almost eleven, Miss.” 

“Would you please pack me a basket with food for two? I believe a bit of bribing might soothe his temper somewhat, while I throw myself in the dust.” 

Mr. Butler couldn't help but smile. 

“Certainly.” 

He had just turned to the door, when the phone rang. 

X

There was dead silence, when Miss Fisher climbed the last stairs. The door stood open, an uniformed officer escaping just when she arrived. Behind him trailed a crying woman, who threw herself at Phryne. 

“Clara, what happened? I couldn't properly understand you.” 

“Phryne, he's dead! I found him this morning.” 

Miss Fisher swallowed hard. 

“But, he was at my house just last night. Perfectly fine.” 

The woman dragged her into the gloomy hall, keeping on talking. 

“I wasn't home yesterday evening. I thought Martin to be asleep. When I wanted to wake him, I found him on his bedroom floor. Ice cold in his own blood.”

Phryne stopped, attempting to process this, but kept being dragged along by her hysterical friend. 

“The police has been here for over an hour. But I don't trust them, Phryne, so I called you. The Inspector reeks of whisky.” 

The thoughts tumbled over each other in Miss Fisher's head. Martin dead? Murdered? And an Inspector smelling of alcohol? Of course, there was plenty of policemen in this city who would drink heavily, especially when they expected it to be their day off. But when the bedroom door swung open, it sure enough was Inspector Robinson crouching beside the body. 

“Jack?” 

He didn't look at her, but pulled himself to his feet. 

“Miss Fisher, of course! I'm afraid, Mr. Webster didn't have a pleasant end to his evening.” 

“What happened?” Phryne asked, tiptoeing into the room, with wide eyes staring at the covered body on the floor. Her heart beat painfully in her chest. Jack turned. Miss Fisher tore her eyes from her dead friend and realised that the Inspector looked terrible. As if he had drank all night, rather than slept. 

“A shot to the chest from close proximity... or so the first look suggests.” 

Phryne battled down all her upset feelings to sneak closer to the body, trying to wrap her head around this, but Jack's hand snatched her wrist in a death grip. 

“Miss Fisher, with all respect for your grief, this is a crime scene you are disturbing.” 

Phryne glittered angrily at him, trying to squirm out of his hands, but Jack was holding on tightly. He was standing entirely too close. Clara had been right. Jack smelled of stale whisky. His eyes were glassy and his skin had a grey tinge. Phryne couldn't help thinking that she had done this to him. In the same moment, two men arrived. 

“Take him to City South Morgue,” the DI ordered, ushering both women out of the room and into the kitchen. 

“Miss Webster, I will have to talk to you,” he said. Clara nodded weakly. “But if you are currently not feeling up for it, we can do this later at the station. And you, Miss Fisher, are staying out of this!” he added warningly. 

“He was my friend, Jack,” Phryne protested, dropping onto a kitchen chair.

“That is exactly my point. I will not have you interfering in this investigation,” the Inspector said sternly, glaring at her. “Are we clear?!” 

Miss Fisher grumbled something that could have been interpreted as an agreement and Inspector Robinson left, right after sealing the bedroom door. The two women sat in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Phryne felt the tears prick in her eyes and berated herself for the fact that she was upset about Jack almost as much as about Martin's death. He had been as cold as an ice block and she hated to suspect that she might deserve it. 

“Will you just let him get away with that?” 

Phryne looked up in confusion, seeing Clara stare at her with red eyes. 

“That arrogant pillock of an Inspector. You aren't really going to let you treat you this way?” she urged. 

“He's just angry,” Phryne stated, finding that she couldn't let him be called an arrogant pillock, even if he acted like one. 

“That might well be, but so am I!” Clara explained coldly. “My brother has been murdered.” 

Phryne nodded, realising that she was required to do something. Martin would have wanted her to find his killer and Jack might not be on the height of his abilities today. She slipped to her feet. 

“A look surely can't hurt.” 

The seal was easily broken and seconds later, she was staring at the dark red spot on the carpet beside the couch. 

“Mrs. Errand heard a shot around midnight,” Clara said quietly, crouching down beside her and running a finger over the crusty stain. “She thought it was a car down in the street having motor issues or something of the kind.” 

Phryne pondered. Around midnight she had been lying in bed sleeplessly, thinking of nothing but Jack, Jack, Jack. God, she felt like she was losing her mind. Guilt announced itself. Had she convinced Martin to stay a little longer, he might have escaped his murderer. But how had his killer gotten into the bedroom to start with? Had it been a woman? A disappointed lover? Phryne's eyes caught something small lying underneath the bed. Gently, she picked it up. 

“What is it?” Clara asked. 

“A piece of evidence,” Phryne said, feeling her knees weaken. The sight of the small, round object between her fingers, let her blood run cold. 

X

Phryne looked up from where she had been sitting, unseeingly staring at her aquamarine coloured walls, when Mr. Butler announced the Inspector. Jack hadn't shed his coat and looked still pretty angry. 

“There'd better be a good reason for you calling me here, Miss Fisher. I am busy, investigating a murder.” 

“I am aware of that,” Phryne replied, getting to her feet. “But I need to talk to you.” 

“About what, Miss Fisher?” 

“This!”

She took his hand and laid a cuff link into his palm. Jack gulped visibly. 

“What about it?” 

“I found it at the crime scene earlier,” she explained with fake calmness. 

There was breathless silence, before he answered. 

“I was investigating there this morning, Miss Fisher. I must have lost it.” 

Angrily, Phryne grabbed his arm and pulled up his coat sleeve, revealing a perfectly fastened shirt cuff. 

“You weren't wearing those this morning, Jack, you wore them last night!”, she yelled desperately, tears mixing into her voice. Jack Robinson stared at her in silence, then gently retrieved his arm from her. 

“And since you wouldn't forget what links you have put on this morning, my first guess of you being framed, can't hold true,” Phryne uttered quietly, her voice cracking. The nasty accusation hung in the room. Inspector Robinson still said nothing, just stared straight past her, looking as if he was battling with himself. She reached out her hand, cupping Jack's cheek. He didn't look at her but didn't move away either. 

“Jack, what have you done?” she whispered. 

He didn't have to answer, there was guilt written all through his eyes. He opened his mouth, trying to explain, but Phryne shook her head, resisting the urge to burst into tears. She felt panic flood her veins. It couldn't be! 

“Phryne-”, he finally choked out. 

“You need to disappear, Jack. Before someone finds out your connection!” she urged, in sudden resolve. She wouldn't watch on while they hanged him for murder. And if she had to drag him out of the country with her own hands. When she looked up at the Inspector, the expression in his eyes had changed. There was a softness to them that she had longed for, but now was not the time. He swallowed dryly.

“I am touched by your urgency to help my murderer escape,” a humorous voice said behind them. Phryne spun. In the parlour door leaned Martin Webster, quite alive. A hundred thoughts raced through Miss Fisher's spinning head. Mostly that she really wasn't sure if to kiss or hit him. She settled for hugging him tightly. 

“Thank God, your alive,” she said, somewhere between laughing and crying, “you two faced snake!” 

“I'm terribly sorry, Phryne, but I am an actor. I will always whore myself to the best play script. And the Inspector's beat yours by a mile.” 

“And Clara?” 

“Was a little nervous, because she hasn't played drama in two years. I think she was doing just fine. But I am most impressed with the Inspector's talent.” 

Miss Fisher turned to look at Jack, who appeared somewhere between amused and guilty. Her anger at realising that he had played a very cruel trick on her, was outweighed by the overwhelming relief.   
“That was not very nice, Inspector,” she pointed out, nevertheless. 

“No, Miss Fisher, indeed it was not. I'll admit that I didn't take you making a fool of me kindly and I have gone too far. On the upside though, I am not a murderer and you do not have to find yourself a new police officer to annoy.”

The two men shared a look over Miss Fisher's head. 

“I'll leave you to it,” Martin said, retreating quietly. His job was done. And quite an adventure it had been, even though he had to admit that it had been the probably nastiest prank of his career- possibly beside the one with the jellyfish. There was some hope however, that it would cure Phryne from a lust for any misguided jokes in the future. Even though it was unlikely, she was Miss Fisher after all. 

Watching her friend leave, the lady detective sank onto the love seat, feeling the tension drain from her body and mind. She looked at Jack, who was still standing in the middle of the room, now obviously anxious, if he would be forgiven. 

“I'm sorry, Phryne” he said, all smugness gone. “I was drunk and furious and it seemed a good idea at the time.” 

“A familiar feeling, Jack,” Miss Fisher said, stretching out an inviting hand. “Quid pro quo.”

A smile ghosted over the Inspector's face. Indeed, in the last hour, while the most terrible of pictures had been playing through Phryne's head, she had pondered that it was really her own fault. She had wanted to provoke a reaction from him and a reaction she had gotten. Luckily it wasn't as devastating as she had feared. 

“I am not sure, if I should be flattered or insulted by your quick conclusion that I would end a man's life in a jealous rage,” Jack stated, sitting down beside her. 

“Was that your motive then?” Phryne quipped.

“Well it was what you aimed for, wasn't it?” he asked. She looked up at him, realising that his grey eyes were dangerously close. 

“Maybe not the rage part,” she admitted quietly, without tearing her eyes from him. She could feel his warm breath brushing over her cheeks. 

“There is really no need to make me jealous, Miss Fisher. A lack of knowledge as to what I desire, is not what keeps me from kissing you right now.” 

She glanced at his lips, soft, inviting, then back at his eyes which had grown darker. 

“What is keeping you, Jack?” 

“Not much,” he whispered, and then the world disappeared, as their lips met. 

When Phryne resurfaced from the firework in her synapses, she was breathing quite heavily. 

“You know, I should be furious with you, Jack,” she pointed out hoarsely, their faces still too close to draw a proper breath. 

“So you should,” he whispered, his eyes almost black with longing. “But at least I waited till April 1st to fool you. The 31st of March was really unfair.” 

“True,” Phryne admitted, weaving her fingers into his hair and pulling him in again, whispering before she closed his mouth: “But then, Jack, I've never been a stickler for rules.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an optional alternative ending. Proceed with care.

With a snap, Miss Fisher's eyes opened. The first feeling she encountered, was disappointment. Jack was nowhere to be seen – or felt for that matter. She pulled herself into a sitting position, rubbing at her tired face. Was her nodding off in the parlour in the middle of the day an indication, that she was growing old? Or should she just stop dancing the nights away in the various jazz-clubs of Melbourne? 

And what nonsense she had dreamed. Jack a murderer? She shook her head. Even his confession at the end was ridiculous. He would never be this cruel to her. Then a thought asked for her attention.

Oh! 

Phryne slipped to her feet, steadying herself, when she realised, that her leg was still asleep. Dorothy appeared in the parlour door. 

“Miss, lunch is ready.” 

“I will be right over, Dot. I'll just have to make a call,” Miss Fisher said, wondering if her servants had seen her drooling onto the sofa cushions, before she swept past the confused looking maid towards the phone in the hall. The connection was quickly established. 

“Martin? Phryne here. Listen, I had second thoughts on this April fool's joke.... No, I think it isn't really a great idea after all. But please do come for dinner and bring Clara... Yes, I would like to introduce you to someone. And you better behave yourself.” 

She rung off. Then, on a hunch, she picked up the phone again. 

“Jack? I think I have an idea where the monkshood might have come from. I'll meet you at our suspects house in half an hour....Yes, Inspector, I might even stick to the speed limits... Oh, and Jack, don't make any plans for tonight.” 

Phryne hung up with a smile on her red lips, before grabbing her coat, completely forgetting about her lunch going cold in the kitchen.


End file.
